


Stories of the Second Self: Strength and Power

by John_Steiner



Series: Alter Idem [46]
Category: Urban Fantasy - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-18 21:48:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22533691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner
Summary: Rodger considered himself a god-fearing born-again christian, but the age of Alter Idem decided that he should be a vampire. Yet, others were granted a transformation that complimented their pagan and heathen ways. Ruing the contradiction, Rodger set out to bring low the highest of Fae elders. There was a big difference between strength and power.
Series: Alter Idem [46]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618813





	Stories of the Second Self: Strength and Power

There she lay, as perfect, as prettied up, and as living as they came. Her antlers arced over and back onto the pillow. Her wider nose bridge and pointed ears accented the sharpness of her features to near crystalline perfection. A subtle hum and faint smile in her blissful sleep taunted him.

He, Rodger, who was dead and couldn't do anything about it. He could've grabbed her, ripped open the side of her throat with a mouthful of razors, but something in Fae blood carried a taste that made him think of glitter and candy. Some vampires liked that shit, but he personally hated it.

Rodger hated being a vampire. He did everything expected of him in life; went to work, paid bills and taxes, as well as devoutly attended church, alongside helping the church's political activism against deviancy. It wasn't right that these new agers, hipsters, and flower-child personalities got the gift of life when he was stripped of his heartbeat, breath, and soul.

Being a vampire was the last thing Rodger would've asked for. He was sure that the rapture would whisk him free of the Earth and only sinners and doubters would face tribulations. But no, so Rodger took it upon himself to wreak God's wrath on the wicked. What more wickedness could there be but for these fairy-tale princess practitioners of witchcraft?

So, raising the knife, Rodger gritted between sharp teeth, "Goodbye princess."

With tenfold mortal power, Rodger plunged the knife down into her face, rather than her chest. For, he so seethed at her unconscious expression of contentment that his desire was to destroy it before ending her life. Except, that's not what his knife sank into, and the thud was loud enough to startle the rest who slumbered in the communal bedroom of the coven house.

Other coven members, either disturbed by his words or his attack, woke to find him attempting murder, but then were shocked again by seeing his hands pass through the illusion that still lay before him. Rodger put his hands through the still sleeping Fae, only to affirm there wasn't any substance.

"Shoulda known," Rodger seethed, and then shot out at the other women in the room. "Where is she? Where's the witch?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," came from the bathroom behind him. "Was I supposed to accept judgment and die at your insistence?"

Rodger turned around to see the same woman he tried to kill standing fully clothed and expectant. Her smirk carried more sting, now that she was looking at him and reacting to him falling for the illusion.

"Fucking witch!" Rodger rushed at her with all his undead strength.

Only to be slammed by something he couldn't see, when the Fae raised her palm up to him, as she remarked, "Witch. I like the sound of that. And, given that I'm schooled in more than innate illusion, I think I'll take that as a badge of pride."

Rodger picked himself up, and jumped at her again. Except this time he felt wrapped up so tight even his vampiric muscle power couldn't break free.

"Ladies," the Fae said to the others, "If you'll excuse me, I got to take care of this."

They cleared away from the door, letting the Fae lift Rodger off the floor without touching him and walk him out. The look on her face was one of someone picking up after their pet's accident. She walked him right out the front door and to the street curb.

"I'll just keep comin' back, bitch," Rodger sneered viciously.

"Ah, that's the word you've been wanting to use," the Fae remarked, tilting her head in sardonic realization, "And that's what this is about. You don't like women to rise up and empower themselves. Yes, I recognized you at those marches. And I agree, you will keep coming back for us. If I want you to, that is. See, the more often you intolerant pigs come at us the stronger we become, and no one will fault us for what I'm about to do to you."

"Kill me then," Rodger roared, honestly hoping she would. "Do it!"

"Hmm," she teased, "I got a better idea."

Rodger's knife tore itself from his indomitable grip, and then he was slammed to the road. The next instant saw his own knife plunging straight into his chest. A convulsive cough exploded from his mouth, though he felt no shortness of breath, just the pain of his heart being pierced. After, a hoof stepped onto the pommel of the knife, and it pressed down somewhat past the hilt, though not as far as the Fae could've gone.

"I said, kill me, you bitch," Rodger scolded, thinking she was too stupid to know how to end his life.

"I know this isn't lethal to you," the Fae replied, "I just like imagining you having to explain it to an ER doctor or a cop. Maybe you don't and just crawl your dead useless ass off into the night. Maybe burn up or maybe try to recover by feeding off someone. Either way, everyone gets to see who you are under the fake piety."

With that the Fae spun on a hoof and walked back to the house. However, halfway to the door she turned once more. "Oh, and it's Régine Candelaria, in case you need to address me in mixed company. I will certainly keep you in mind, Rodger. Till we meet again."


End file.
